CHAPTER 43: THE FESTIVAL OF THE BARGAIN GOD I

The wagon creaked along the muddy road to Glimmerfen like it was auditioning for a haunted house. My crew—Lilith, Vorren, Jex, Yvra, Mister Fog, and the King’s finest disasters, Sir Thrain and Sir Gorrim—bounced along, each bump making us question our life choices. I sprawled in the back, still glowing faintly from the First Loaf’s power, which hummed in my chest like a sugar rush that refused to quit. My fingers itched to summon another loaf, but after turning a tree into a cupcake yesterday, I figured I’d save my bread magic for something epic. Like, say, a dragon. Or a really good sandwich.

Lilith drove, her scythe glinting in the moonlight like it was plotting murder. Vorren sharpened a knife big enough to carve a cow, his grunts filling the silence. Jex clutched his sack of apples, muttering about how dragons probably hoarded cursed soup instead of gold. Yvra sat upfront, her princess posture perfect despite the wagon’s attempts to toss her into the mud. Mister Fog floated above, sipping tea that smelled like regret and old socks. Sir Thrain held the reins, his backward helmet wobbling as he scanned the horizon for imaginary bandits. Sir Gorrim, still mourning his broken sword hilt, recited the Knight’s Code of Valor, which now included a rule about "never trusting a scabbard."

"Cecil," Yvra said, her voice sharp as a bread knife, "if you summon one more pastry, I’m tying you to the wagon and leaving you for the wolves."

I grinned, flexing my glowing fingers. "Relax, princess. I’m saving my powers for the dragon. Unless you want a quick brioche for the road?"

She glared, and I swear the air around her crackled with royal fury. "I’m here to keep you from turning Glimmerfen into a bakery, not to eat your cursed carbs."

Lilith snorted, not looking back. "He’ll turn it into a bakery anyway. It’s his only skill."

"Oi," I said, sitting up. "I’ve got other skills. Like... charming ex-wives."

Yvra’s eye twitched. "Keep talking, and I’ll charm you into a ditch."

Before I could retort, the wagon lurched to a stop. Thrain yanked the reins, shouting, "HALT! An obstacle!" His helmet tilted, making him look like a confused turtle.

Gorrim stood, tripped over an apple, and face-planted into the hay with a muffled THUD. "By the crown’s honor!" he wheezed, mustache flopping. "What is it?"

I leaned over the side, expecting a fallen tree or a bandit ambush. Instead, I saw... a parade? A chaotic line of colorful wagons, jugglers, and dancing goats stretched across the road, lit by torches that flickered like they were drunk. Banners waved, proclaiming "The Grand Festival of the Bargain God!" Merchants in garish robes hawked glowing trinkets, and a lute player strummed a tune that sounded like a cat fighting a banjo. The air smelled of spices, sweat, and—yep—freshly baked bread.

"What in the seven hells is this?" Vorren growled, gripping his knife.

Mister Fog sipped his tea, unfazed. "The Cult of Bargains. They worship commerce and chaos. Everything’s a trade, and they take it very seriously."

A merchant with a beard like a bird’s nest bounded up, waving a loaf of bread studded with jewels. "Hail, travelers! Welcome to the Festival of the Bargain God! Care to trade for this bejeweled baguette? Only costs your finest secret!"

I blinked, feeling the Loaf’s power hum. "Did you say... baguette?"

Yvra grabbed my arm. "Cecil, no. We’re on a mission. No detours."

But the merchant wasn’t done. He clapped, and a dozen more appeared, surrounding the wagon with baskets of bread, pies, and suspiciously shiny muffins. "Trade or be cursed!" he sang, tossing a scone that bounced off Thrain’s helmet with a CLINK.

Thrain drew his lance (still upside-down). "Stand back, heathens! We serve King Valthorne!"

Gorrim, climbing out of the hay, brandished his broken sword hilt. "Aye! No bartering with rogues!" He swung the hilt, accidentally knocking his own helmet off. It rolled into a ditch, where a goat promptly started chewing it.

I hopped out of the wagon, unable to resist. "Alright, let’s see what you’ve got. I’m the Loafbearer, after all." I pointed at a nearby torch, and—POOF!—it turned into a giant cinnamon roll, dripping icing. The crowd gasped, then cheered, like I’d just invented fire.

The head merchant’s eyes gleamed. "A bread sorcerer! Perfect! To pass our festival, you must win the Trial of Bargains! Bake a loaf better than ours, or trade something of equal value!"

Lilith groaned. "Cecil, you’re going to get us stuck here forever."

Jex whispered, "Can we trade Gorrim? He’s useless."

Gorrim overheard, puffing out his chest. "I am a knight of valor! Not... tradeable!" He tripped over his cloak, landing in a pile of festival bread with a SQUELCH.

I cracked my knuckles, feeling the Loaf’s power surge. "Fine. Let’s bake. But if I win, you let us through. And throw in some of those shiny muffins."

The merchant grinned, clapping. "Deal! To the Baking Arena!"

The "arena" was a clearing lined with ovens, flour sacks, and cheering merchants. A giant statue of the Bargain God—a chubby figure holding a loaf and a coin—loomed over us. I stepped up, flanked by my crew, who looked like they’d rather be fighting a dragon than dealing with this. Thrain stood guard, lance wobbling, while Gorrim tried to look heroic but kept sneezing from the flour dust.

I grabbed a bowl, channeling the Loaf’s power. ZAP! A perfect dough formed, glowing faintly. The merchants gasped. I kneaded it, tossing in some random berries Jex handed me (probably not cursed). The dough rose like it had ambitions, and I shoved it into an oven. The smell was divine, like victory and butter had a baby.

The merchants baked too, their loaf studded with gems and smelling like ambition. When the timer dinged, we presented our loaves. Mine was golden, fluffy, and hummed with Loafbearer energy. Theirs sparkled but looked... crunchy.

The head merchant took a bite of mine and gasped. "This... this is divine! You win!"

The crowd roared. Thrain, caught up in the moment, thrust his lance skyward, accidentally knocking over a flour sack. A white cloud engulfed Gorrim, who sneezed so hard he fell into a pie cart, sending custard flying with a SPLAT.

Yvra sighed. "Can we leave now?"

The merchant handed me a shiny muffin. "Passage granted! But beware—the Bargain God watches!"

I took a bite of the muffin, feeling the Loaf’s power flare. "Let’s roll, team. Glimmerfen awaits."